It’s a new day, a new Creation. And we are part of the Mystery..

A Christmas Poem, by e.e.cummings

proud nowhere of earth’s most prodigious nightblossoms a newborn babe: around him, eyes–gifted with every keener appetitethan mere unmiracle can quite appease–humbly in their imagined bodies kneel(over time space doom dream while floats the whole

perhapsless mystery of paradise)

mind without soul may blast some universeto might have been, and stop ten thousand starsbut not one heartbeat of this child; nor shalleven prevail a million questionings against the silence of his mother’s smile- whose only secret all creation sings.